Concrete Angel
by Voice's-of-the-paper-doll
Summary: It had been three weeks since Tex's death. Her death had hurt them all in ways they'd never have imagined, and turned them to unthinkable consequences. ChurchTucker, GrifSimmons


Title: Concrete Angel chapter 1  
Rating: R  
Pairings: Implied TexChurch, SargeGrif, SisterTex. Main pairings: ChurchTucker, GrifSimmons.  
Summary: Three weeks. It seemed like ages since Tex's death, and thinking about it, Church didn't think that any one of them would ever cope by themselves. That's why they needed each other.  
Warnings: Strong language, sexual refferances and self-mutilation.

Church tightened the grip on his sniper rifle, surveying then canyon with one sharp eye though none of the barren surroundings registered in his mind. There was only one thing that stayed with him, one thing alone that helped- and prevented him from losing his mind.

Tex.

In reality it had been three weeks. Only two mother fucking weeks but to Church it seemed like an eternity. He couldn't get it out of his head. Tex, the explosion, Andy. And now? Where was she?

She was in the air, blown into millions of small fragments, scattered into the atmosphere.  
'Her death would have been almost instantaneous' Doc had informed him well after the incident, shifting his weight from foot to foot as Church slowly raised his head to meet his calm passive gaze. "She wouldn't have suffered"

It didn't matter to Church. What mattered was that his girlfriend was currently KIA. Why did he care whether she had suffered or not? She was dead.

It was the first torturous week that got to Church. One whole week of praying next to the sight where Tex's body should have been, if it was not blown into millions of pieces, just waiting, hoping for the freelance to return. How many nights had he screamed for Tex to take control of Caboose's freshly unconscious body (Even in grief he wasn't that generous) and come back to him?

It was one day, just a normal day like all the rest that it finally sunk in. Normal routine, same timetable, wake up and stare for a full whole minutes at the lump in the bed where Tex should have been, call her a slut and make a quick check to see if most of his money was still in his wallet where it should be. Then he would sit quietly for five minutes, as the memories of Tex's death would sink back in, and slowly crawl back in under the bed covers.

His silent recollection was quickly broken by Sister's annoyingly cheerful chatter, Doc's groaning and his own unusually gruff voice demanded a little piece and quite. Some things hadn't changed. But maybe that was a good thing.

Ok, scratch that last part. Church had sighed, staring down at a half full bottle of laundry detergent and wondered if Tex was any good at washing. She was a chick right? Even if she didn't act much like one.

"Hey Sister?" The ginger haired recruit hollered back her cheerful greeting from the main room; her infamous rants interrupted much to her companion's relief. "Where the hell is Tex? Ah, fuck it; are you any good at laundry? Caboose drank the detergent again- Tucker what did I tell you about that?"

Church wasn't the least surprised to tell the truth when none of his teammates answered. His team building skills went unnoticed by the rest of the blues, as well as his efforts to encourage them into doing whatever it was he was to lazy to do himself.

What did surprise him however was, upon his return the dumb founded expressions of the bases occupants as he entered the main room.

"Church" Doc started warily but Sister cut in before he could finish "Church Tex is dead. Don't you remember? My bro and the grey dudes blew her up"

Church took a small step back, not phased by the facts he had been denying all the time but the careless way that Sister pronounced them. Like she didn't care at all.

And so he'd simply turned and ran. Ran past blue base, grabbing his sniper rifle and heading towards the cliffs though he couldn't see through his tears.

Tex, gone. It had all come back to him. She was gone, she was never coming back. She couldn't come back from the afterlife; she had no body to sustain her presence. She was never going to return and he was never going to forget.

What hurt even more was the unfair way she had been snatched from him. It didn't make any sense. What had he done to deserve this?

So he'd stayed up on the cliff, watching the barren canyon's of blood gulch through the lens of his sniper rifle. He'd returned to the base that night, but come back to the cliffs the next day.

And the next. And the next until he stopped returning to the base at all. He just stayed up on the cliff, looking and feeling nothing.

This at least surprised him. He suspected he'd feel undeniable anger when his girlfriend was killed, but instead there was just emptiness. Emptiness where his feelings for Tex should have been, where his life should have been. He was alone.

Ah, movement! Church repositioned the focus on his sniper rifle, turning the barrel down into the canyon so he could get a better look at the new comer, the invader in his fragile sanctuary.

Sister sat glumly upon one of the gulch's many jagged rocks, staring out into the wall of the cliff, giving no sign that she'd seen Church crouched on top. She screwed up her nose, sliding a colorful bracelet up and down her skinny wrist while staring at her reflection in a small glass mirror and Church blinked in surprise.

The recruit was in casual dress as he was, and perhaps for the same reason. Sister's grin was bright but her freckled skin pale and large black lines encircled her amber eyes. Her baggy cargo pants and red shirt clung to her thin frame, giving her a wraith like appearance.

The girl rocked back and forth, still staring at the mirror and Church blinked in surprise and the realization broke in.

Sister missed Tex as well.

The fact was absurd, Tex and Sister's 'friendship' had started when Sister called Tex a bitch, leading to a chain of vicious schoolgirl rivalries and nasty 'accidents' but here the girl was, mourning the loss of the freelance with him.

This somehow only seemed to worsen Church's emptiness, compelling him to lay the sniper rifle aside and begin his careful decent from the cliff's edge. His sanctuary had been invaded and for some reason he felt cramped, as if Sister had shoved him into a corner, and away from his only escape.

And the girl's presence had reminded Church of one asinine detail he'd forgotten, for good or for worse. It was Christmas in Blood Gulch.

He'd be back the next day; he was sure but for now a return to blue base was essential to maintaining his fragile sanity. He crossed the rocky canyon, caring little if he provided an easy target for Red snipers. What did he have to lose?

The blue base seemed strangely hollow, without his usual harsh comments and Sister's yammering. Tex had tried to shoot/kill all of them at some point, but she was the glue keeping the team together. Without her they where slowly falling into decay.

Church could here Caboose's absent voice drifting through the bases hallways, chattering on and on with Doc's helpfully prompting. He heard his own name being called more then once, and Tex's too. And then, the sound that stopped him in his tracks.

Laughter. Unmistakable laughter, of two voices ringing in the silence of the blue base. They where laughing at his pain. How fucking dare they. Church felt himself backtrack to the doorway entrance of the main room where three figures sat.

"Have you seen Church?" Caboose asked innocently in Doc's direction, the pair seated on the bases couch. Like him and sister the pair where clad in casual clothing, Caboose a Maroon 'Mums little angel' shirt and blue shorts and Doc a regulation medic uniform though Church for the life of him could not guess why.

"Huh, no now that you mention it I haven't seen him lately" Doc thought for a second before returning his attention back to the private. Caboose's eyes widened and he shook his head in shock.

"I've seen Church. A lot of him" Caboose widened his arms to reveal his true meaning and Church felt a pang of hurt stab at his chest. They where calling him fat. After all that had happened they where still going on about it.

But what hurt was how wrong the group was. Church had not taken to binging over Tex's death. In truth he'd taken to exactly the opposite. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a solid meal.

And then Church's eyes met with the third occupant of the room. Tucker was the only one who seemed to have noticed him; the smaller lightly tanned male was seated at the end of the couch, his legs drawn up to his chest, his eyes locked into Church's. Church could faintly make out the white parka clad private mouth 'sorry' as he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Caboose and Doc startled.

Church threw himself onto the empty bed, his back groaning as he felt the metal springs big into his spine. And then it all came back to him, what he'd been trying to forget.

Everybody was dead. He was thousands of years in the future, all his friends and family where long gone. Usually this would have made the old Church jump with joy but now it only left a dull numb sensation in his blood. He was truly alone.

Maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours before Church finally pushed himself up off the bed and retreated into the bases only bathroom. He closed the door and stared at his grief stricken features in the dull light through the cabinet mirror.

His fingers brushed a pink Gillette razor and he smiled fondly at the memories. Revealing of a little too much skin had prompted the cobalt solider to purchase the razor for Tex, much to her initial disgust.

He brought the razor up to his chin, the stub of a beard beginning to form. Tex had always hated his beard. He drew the razor down his bare skin; hissing but caring little as blood ran freely downs his neck.

Rough shaving was dangerous but Church cared little as he held the razor up to the light. "Merry Christmas Tex" Church whispered softly "I'm sorry you weren't here to enjoy it"

But he wasn't done yet. Church sighed, happy that no one was here to see what he was reduced to. He was left on this earth with no will to live, no will to carry on without his beloved.

So that was what prompted the once proud solider to roll up the sleeve of his midnight blue shirt and slowly carve a small cut into his right shoulder, the sight of blood running down pale skin helping him to breath.

Because Leonard L. Church was afraid to die.

He was stuck on the earth by his own cowardness, he'd been dead before and the after life was no place he wanted to return to. So he couldn't die, couldn't live. Just hang grimly in-between.

To him cutting was a coping method, to help quell the pit in his stomach. Unfortunately the next action was not, as the door behind him burst open with a loud bang and Tucker's horrified voice sounded in the entrance

"Church, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

But maybe, unknown to either Church or Tucker it wasn't the knife that was going to help Church cope.

Maybe it was Tucker.


End file.
